


What We Do To Beautiful Women

by KesSkirata



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captured, Connie is a Badass, DEA disaster husbands, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Hurt Javier Peña, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Javier Peña hurts so prettily, Javier Peña whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Javi, Steve is unhinged, Torture, Whump, Yearning, javi whump, mustache boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KesSkirata/pseuds/KesSkirata
Summary: Javier Peña tries to help Connie Murphy out of a dangerous situation and they both end up in a world of hurt.No real warnings yet but it’s implied down the line.
Relationships: Connie Murphy/Steve Murphy (Narcos), Connie Murphy/Steve Murphy/Javier Peña, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [9 Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619970) by [Alberta_Sunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alberta_Sunrise/pseuds/Alberta_Sunrise). 



> This fic has been percolating ever since I first started watching Narcos and now it’s gonna pay rent. It’s also inspired by Alberta_Sunrise’s beautiful Javier Peña whump fics.
> 
> Spanish translations are in bold. 
> 
> I literally cannot write Narcos without some Stavier yearning.
> 
> Canon compliant except Connie didn’t leave and the Escobar’s try to get out sooner.

Steve Murphy’s phone rang. Javier Peña glared at it, willing it to stop. The man had been out of the office all day, Messina having sent him on an errand or some shit. He hadn’t even asked him to go. Not that Javier cared. He just hated paperwork. 

Murphy’s phone rang again and Javier buried his face in his hands, muttering imprecations in Spanish. He was not going to answer it. Steve should be here to answer his own damn phone. Unless it was some sort of tip. Javier leaned over the table to pick up the phone just as the line went dead. 

His own phone rang, so loud it startled him into dropping his cigarette. Cursing again, he threw it at the ash tray and answered the phone.

“Peña.”

“Hey Javi,” Connie Murphy’s voice was loud, as though she was straining to be heard. “Is Steve there?” Javier muffled a groan.  _ He wasn’t Steve’s fuckin secretary. _

“He’s been out all day Connie, I don’t know where.” Javier tried to rein in the terseness of his comment but knew he wouldn’t be successful.  _ I don’t fucking care where he is, he needs to get back here and manage his own family shit.  _

“Dammit,” Connie huffed quietly and suddenly Javier could hear the street noise in the background. 

“Where are you Connie?”

“Um,” she sighed, “are you super busy Javi?”

“Where are you,” he repeated, rolling his chair back and grabbing his gun out of the drawer. 

“So, I was out riding my bike and some assholes hit me,” Connie said in a rush. “I’m fine but my bike is broken. Could you, um, come get me, Javi?”

“Connie, what the fuck?” was the only thing Javier could get out. “That’s dangerous, where are you?” She groaned, and Javier had a sudden mental image of her rolling her eyes.

“Goddamit Javi, you sound like Steve,” she was irritated. “I do this all the time, it's fine.” 

“You, a gringa, just got hit by a car. That’s not fine Connie!”

“Javi, are you going to come get me or not.” Her tone clearly said she was done talking about it, and Javier decided he could wait until she was safely in his Bronco before chewing her out some more.

“Of course I’m coming,” he grumped. “Where the fuck are you?” She told him and his stomach sank a bit.  _ Way too close to the comunas.  _

“Stay right there Connie, by the phone, I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?” He didn’t wait for her murmured assent before he was flying out the door, cursing the stupidity of gringos and yelling at the secretary to tell Murphy to get his ass home when he got back. 

He gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled as he drove.  _ Why the fuck was Murphy letting his gringa wife go bike riding in Bogota?  _ She’d said she did it all the time, and sure that was fine but now? When Escobar’s men were disappearing police wives and daughters all over Columbia? The answer came to him almost immediately.  _ He hasn’t fucking told her.  _

Escobar’s family had tried to flee and been taken “into protective custody” by the government. They had even hired foreign mercenaries to watch them, assuming rightly that too many Columbians would resent the situation. But some of the mercenaries had taken advantage of Escobar’s wife, and now things were ten times worse.

The government had apologized profusely and released the family, but Escobar’s rage was hot and the killings and kidnappings had been taken to a new level. One that shook even someone as jaded as Javier Peña.

Javier pressed the gas pedal to the floor, willing himself to go even faster.

***

Connie was sitting on a bench near the payphone when he pulled up, his jeep half parked on the curb and his gun in his hand. She lifted one blond eyebrow and stared, snapping her gum. Her long attractive legs were crossed, foot bouncing in time with her ponytail as she shook her head. 

“Jeez Javi I’m fine. Don’t get all worked up.” He glared at her, keeping his gun up and his eyes searching for any sign of trouble. Connie rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the payphone and squatting next to her mangled bike. 

“Can you help me get this in your Bronco?” she asked, pushing her sweaty blond hair off her forehead and looking up at him with wide blue eyes. Javier swallowed hard, noting the sparkle of mischief in them as she rolled her shoulders. The movement made her loose button up slide down enough to show off her generous cleavage.  _ She’s doing this on fucking purpose. _

“Just get in the truck,” he snapped. She didn’t, laughing at his discomfort with her antics. 

“Steve always says you can’t resist a nice pair of tits,” she grinned, smugly impressed with herself. He groaned.

“Is this what you and Murphy talk about at home, you talk about me?” She laughed again. 

“What the fuck else are we supposed to talk about,” her words were teasing but there was an edge to them that made it clear that kind of questioning was closed. Connie rolled her eyes again when he grumbled about how messed up her bike was. 

“How did you not get seriously hurt?” He huffed as he struggled to get it in the back. She shrugged, holding the trunk open for him.

“I saw the car and I jumped. I mean my hands are scraped up but that’s not really injured.” Connie stared down at her palms. “Thank you Javi,” she said softly. “I really appreciate it.” He closed the trunk and turned to her.

“Look,” Javier said with a sigh, “you’re my partner’s wife. I’m here for you like I’m here for Steve.” He dismissed the pang in his heart at those words. “But you have to promise me you won’t do something this dangerous again, okay?” For a moment he thought she might argue, but then her face softened and she nodded, looking down at her feet. 

“Let’s get you home.” Javier turned around and suddenly was face to face with a gun. Adrenaline shot through him and he threw his arm against the sicario’s, twisting it to the side as it went off.  _ Fuck, no vest. I’m exposed. _

“Connie, run,” He yelled and drew his gun as he tackled the man, firing off a quick shot to his head as they fell. Javier rolled, pressing his back against the Bronco’s tires and using the sicarios body as a shield. He fired at the armed gunmen he could see running down the street.  _ A trap. Fuck, this was a trap. _

Connie was screaming somewhere, Javier desperately hoped she was running. A volley of bullets hit the man in front of him with wet thuds. Javier fired back as they reloaded. 

“Suelta tu arma o tu gringa muere.”  **Drop the gun or your gringa dies** . A whimper from Connie drove the words home. 

“Fuck” Javier whispered, slamming his fist into the ground. “Estan DEA!” he called, one last hope.

A low chuckle. “Pablo no le importa, Agenté Peña.”  **Pablo doesn’t care, Agent Peña.** Javier’s veins turned to ice.  _ They knew who he was.  _ The cold barrel of a gun pressed itself against the back of his head and he let go of his gun reluctantly. They’d gotten the drop on him.

Two sicarios grabbed him, banging him roughly into the jeep as they dragged him up. A fist slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Javier groaned, trying to keep his head up, looking for Connie.

“Javi! Javi!” She was screaming, trying to pull away from the men holding her arms. He saw a flash of her face, bloody and bruised, a handprint blooming on her face and neck. But Connie’s knuckles were bruised too, and blood dripped from her fingernails onto a screaming sicario who clutched at his face. Javi felt a rush of pride at the sight.  _ She’d fought too.  _ He caught a glimpse of a feral grin that reminded him of Murphy before they pulled a burlap bag over her head. 

_ Fuck, Murphy.  _ Javier’s heart dropped. What the fuck was this going to do to Steve? Losing his partner and his wife on the same day was going to make him come unglued, and Javier wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces. A van pulled up behind him and they pushed Connie into it.

”No! Ella no tiene nada que ver con esto”  **She has nothing to do with this!** he yelled, struggling against the sicarios manhandling him. One of them kicked his knees and Javier fell heavily to the ground. “Dejala sola!”  **Leave her alone** he shouted, holding back a groan of pain. The other man aimed a kick to Javier’s gut, loosening his hold as he did so.  _ Last chance to get out of this alive. _

Javier wrenched his arm out of their grasp and threw himself at the other man, tackling him at his knees and scrabbling for his gun. He missed, but the other sicario didn’t, and in a heartbeat Javier was on the ground holding his arms over his face to protect himself from the flurry of kicks and punches.

“Basta!” The beating stopped and they dragged him to his knees, zip tying his arms behind his back. Javier was too weak to resist again, his rage bleeding away with the pain. 

“Qué vas a hacer, pendejo?”  **What you gonna do asshole?** Javi spat. He couldn’t help the way his voice shook when he spoke. Blood ran down his face from a cut on his head, making it hard to see clearly. The man who had spoken earlier laughed as he moved to loom over Javier.

“Peña, tú sabes lo que hacemos a las mujeres hermosas,”  **you know what we do to beautiful women** he sneered, drawing his gun and waving it. “Y la gringa es muy linda,” he finished, looking lasciviously towards where Connie had disappeared inside the van. Disbelief and horror rolled through Javier as his jaw dropped. Images of finding Helena filled his mind, unbidden.

“Todos hombres muertos.”  **You’re all dead men.** Javi gathered the strength to spit a mouthful of blood at him. “Los americanos te matarán.”  **The Americans will kill you.** A fist smashed into his face and blood spattered across the pavement. He would’ve fallen if not for the unfriendly arms holding him upright. 

Javier could see well enough now to recognize the sicario. Velasco leaned forward, the gun at his forehead. Javier’s jaw tightened, breathing hard.  _ This is it then. I’m dead.  _ The barrel trailed down the side of his face to trace his jawline then Velasco dug it into his neck, forcing his face upwards. 

“La puta de la DEA necesita sufrir,”  **the DEA whore needs to suffer,** Velasco growled, and Javier’s restraint broke.

“Hijo de puta,” he snarled, lunging at the sicario. The gun came down hard on the back of his head and he fell into darkness. It didn’t occur to Javier until later to wonder if Velasco was referring to him or to Connie. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s long day just got a whole lot worse, and Connie and Javi aren’t doing much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/comfort yay! Nurse Connie is a badass. Steve is clueless. Javier is a pragmatic SOB

“Connie, run!” Javier Peña’s shout was overshadowed by the crack of a gunshot whizzing past Connie Murphy’s ear. Javi crashed into the gunman and they tumbled to the ground. 

A hot flush of adrenaline shot through her body, making her stumble. More gunshots rang out and Connie turned, pushing off of the Bronco and breaking into a run.

Rough hands closed on her arm, dragging her backwards. A scream finally ripped from her throat, fear overwhelming her shock. Connie moved without thinking, throwing her closed fist at the man’s face. His grip loosened enough enough for her to twist out and dodge.  _ Move. Keep running. _

A hail of gunfire erupted behind her, followed by the heavy wet thuds of bullets burying themselves in a body. Connie’s steps faltered.  _ Fuck, Javi.  _

Her head jerked backwards and Connie screamed again, sinking her fingernails into the hand on her ponytail as it pulled her off her feet. 

“Maldita perra,” a voice hissed near her ear and Connie struck out blindly, grabbing his face and  _ ripping  _ at it with a strength born from desperation. His scream was deafening so close to her ears. She rolled, managing to scramble to her knees. Something heavy struck the side of her face, and Connie saw stars. The pavement smacked into her forehead and she whimpered despite herself.

A man was yelling in Spanish, waving a gun at her, as two sicarios grabbed her arms and pulled her up. Then Javier was yelling something back and Connie let out her breath in a rush.  _ Javi’s alive.  _ She looked up just in time to see the sicarios punch him in the gut, doubling Javier over. 

“Javi! Javi!”, Connie screamed, struggling, fear rolling over her in waves.  _ They’re going to kill him.  _

“Callete, puta!” Someone shoved Connie hard, forcing her gaze away from Javi. They pulled a zip-tie over her wrists, making her wince. They were tight enough to dig into her skin, but her hands were already red with blood.  _ Not mine,  _ Connie thought dimly, lips twisting halfway between a smile and a sneer. 

“Fuck you,” she spat, looking up at the man still holding her wrists. His eyes were cruel, laughing, as another man slid a bag over head. Oh  _ No. no no no no no. _

They dragged her with them, Javier’s cries of pain loud behind her.  _ Fuck.  _ Connie heard a van door slide open. The full weight of what was happening sank into her, and she started struggling again in earnest, chest tight with fear.  _ What would Steve do?  _

Connie’s ankle twisted and she stumbled, her shoe coming untied. She kicked it off, hoping it hit one of these bastards. Then she was being lifted and tossed bodily into the van. The door slammed shut and she was alone. 

Panic clawed at her throat, a soft sob echoing in the empty van. Alone with dangerous men who wanted her husband dead, who would scream at her for information in a language Connie didn’t understand. Dangerous men who were killing Javi just a few feet away.  _ Dammit, it’s all my fault.  _ The tears were coming easier, soaking the fabric over her face.  _ I’m never going to see Steve or Olivia again.  _

Gunshots rang out again, followed by laughter. Connie pressed her hands to her mouth to stop her scream.  _ He’s dead.  _ The door swung open again and she flinched away. Something heavy landed next to her,  _ a body. Oh god, Javi’s body.  _

Sirens wailed in the distance and rough hands grabbed her ankles, dragging her down and throwing rough blankets over her and Javier’s body.

“Callate” the voice growled again, then the door slammed shut. The van started, the deafening rumbling of the engine vibrating through her. It was so loud she almost missed it. A soft moan, muffled by the layers of burlap and blankets. 

Hope flared through Connie, so hot and sharp that it hurt. It broke through the hazy fog of terror, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, she took a long slow breath. Pushed it out. Breathe in. Count the exhale.  _ It’s up to you.  _

Connie Murphy, terrified kidnapping victim, slipped away, pushed down by years of practice at compartmentalization and emotional control. She could cry later. Connie Murphy, ER nurse, was in charge now. 

_ Triage,  _ she thought, a faint smile twisting her lips. First things first, the stupid bag over her head. Thanking her lucky stars her hands were bound in front, Connie pushed the rough wet fabric up until her eyes were uncovered. She blinked, adjusting to the darkness and trying not to breathe too deeply. The blankets smelled like mold and old piss, but she pushed the thought aside and focused on Javier. 

He let out another moan when her searching fingers found his abdomen.  _ Shit, he’s got broken ribs.  _ Her hands continued upwards, brushing lightly over his ripped shirt, trying not to hurt him more. She had to get the bag off his head.

Connie could see a bit better now, enough to make her hiss with anger when she saw the extent of Javier’s facial injuries. He was covered in blood and bruises, one eye swollen shut. A cut on the back of his head had made a mess of the bag. 

_ I can’t even clean it properly,  _ Connie seethed. She pulled the hem of her shirt up, wiping at the blood on Javi’s face. 

“Javi, wake up,” she whispered. “You have to wake up.” 

***

Steve Murphy dragged himself up his apartment steps, drained.  _ God, it had been a long fuckin day.  _ Javi was in some shit with Messina again, so it’d fallen to him to run around Bogotá with Carillo all day while Peña pushed papers. 

On the one hand, Steve was glad Carillo had accepted him as a substitute for Javier, had finally acknowledged his “all-in.” But on the other hand, being surrounded by CNP and Search Bloc who only spoke Spanish all day long, made him surly. At least if Javi had been there, he’d have been reasonably sure they weren’t just yanking his chain all day, talkin’ shit behind his back.

The warm air of the hallway hit him at the same time as Olivia’s wailing screams. Steve frowned at his watch. It was almost 10 pm, Connie was usually pretty strict with her 8:30 bedtime for the toddler.  _ Shit, I hope she’s not sick. _

Steve took the stairs two at a time, worry for his daughter and sympathy for Connie giving him a brief energy boost. His key was turning in the lock before he realized the cries were coming from the third floor.  _ Mrs. Alvaro’s apartment. _

He swung the door open anyway. Their apartment was dark and clean, no dinner dishes or baby messes cluttering anything up. Steve’s frown deepened as he slowly climbed to the next landing. 

Señora Alvaro answered on the first knock, thrusting the sobbing baby into his arms and screaming at him in heavily accented English. Steve’s tired brain worked overtime trying to catch up.

“I’m sorry, Señora Alvaro, what? Can you just slow down a bit I can’t…. Connie left when? Eight hours?” Steve’s stomach dropped, Connie’d gone shopping 8 hours ago? On her bicycle? “I’m so sorry ma’am, it won’t happen again.” She yelled something in Spanish and slammed the door. 

Olivia nestled tearfully into Steve’s neck and he brought his hand up absently to cradle her. 

“Daddy,” she sobbed, “wan mommy.” Ice settled in Steve’s gut.  _ She’s missing. Connie’s been  _ **_missing_ ** _ for 8 hours. _

“Yeah, baby girl, I want her too,” he said softly.  _ Javi. Javi will know what to do.  _ Olivia’s crying had dwindled to hiccuping sobs by the time they made it to Javier’s apartment. Steve tried to bang on the door quietly, but as the moments slipped by with no answer he grew increasingly desperate. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, digging out Javier’s spare key. “Jav, you better not have anyone over, I’m coming in!” The door swung open on yet another dark, empty apartment, and for the first time since he’d come to Columbia, Steve Murphy felt completely alone.

***

The road had gotten bumpier by the time Javier opened his eyes, a soft groan slipping out.

“Javi!” Connie was on him in a heartbeat, her voice shaking with relief. “Oh my god Javi I thought you were dead.” He looked up at her, his uncertain brown eyes filled with pain.

“Where?” he croaked. Connie laid a finger against his mouth, and he nodded in understanding.

“I don’t know, a van,” she whispered. “Some men attacked us. Do you remember, Javi?” She tried not to sound too desperate, too unsure of herself.  _ You have to be strong, Connie.  _ Javi’s eyes squeezed shut.

“Shit, yeah.” He sounded breathless, the broken ribs and severe bruising taking their toll. 

“Hold still, Javi, you have a couple broken ribs and your face is a mess,” Connie was all business again, thumbing up Javier’s eyelids and cursing the dim light under the blankets.

“Connie what the hell.”

“God, Javi, I’m a nurse, let me do my job,” she hissed under her breath, trying not to touch him too much. “The cut on the back of your head is clotting nicely but I can’t see well enough to check for a concussion.” Javier wriggled, cursing his bound arms.

“Connie, stop. It doesn’t matter if I have a concussion.” His voice was quieter, the resignation in it sending a chill down her spine. 

“Shut up Javi. I have a penlight on my keychain…” Connie’s voice trailed off. “Javi, I have a penknife on my keychain.” The urgency in her whisper matched the sudden flash of hope in Javier’s eyes. 

“Where,” he whispered hoarsely. Connie was already rolling on her side.

“In my back pocket Javi. My hands are tied in front and I can’t reach it. Can you?”

“My hands are behind my back but I’ll sure as hell try.” Javier hissed as he put action to his words. He rolled gingerly to the side, another moan escaping when the floor pressed hard against his broken ribs. 

Connie moved closer, pressing herself against Javi’s side and scooting up to try to make it easier for his numb, bound hands to reach into her pocket. 

“Left side,” she whispered, as Javier’s hand slid over her ass, searching for the seam. Connie swallowed hard, deeply grateful he couldn’t see the blush creeping up her neck. _ Shut up,  _ she thought furiously.  _ He’s not feeling you up, he’s helping you escape from a dangerous situation.  _

_ “ _ Got it,” he grunted, pulling his hand out, “can you roll back over and grab it.” Relief and remorse swept through her as she rolled back over to accept the keys, now slippery with Javier’s blood.

“Shit it’s not working,” she whispered frantically a few minutes later. “It’s not cutting through the zip ties.” She felt, more than heard, Javier’s sigh.

“Well, it was worth a try hermosa,” he said softly. Connie leaned against him, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries.

“What are we going to do, Javi,” she whispered. Javi turned his head, kissing her gently on the forehead. 

“You’re going to do whatever you have to do to survive, Connie.” Javier’s breath hitched but he continued, “I’m sure Steve is looking for us, and Carrillo too. Your husband is a good man and a damn good agent. He’ll find you.” Connie could feel the cold sweat from where Javi’s head rested against hers. The omission sent her stomach into a swirl of fear. 

“What about you, Javi?” She wasn’t sure she’d spoken loud enough for him to hear for a long moment.

“Don’t worry about me, hermosa.” Javier’s voice was solid and comforting in the darkness. “At some point, they’re gonna stop watching you so closely. They’re gonna get lax. And when that happens, you take your out and you run. And you don’t look back. You understand me, Connie?” 

She couldn’t speak, grief and fear and panic welling up in her throat, tears threatening to fall. Connie could only nod and hope he didn’t notice. 

“Good girl,” he said softly. “I’m sorry Connie.” She swallowed hard.

“It’s my fault Javi.” He interrupted before she could go any further.

“This is not your fault Connie,” Javier said firmly. “This is on Escobar. This is on the sicarios. This is not on you, or on me and Steve. Okay?” He bumped her forehead, clearly wanting a response.

“Okay,” Connie whispered. The van slowed, turning. Connie could feel Javier’s heart rate speed up. 

“Promise me, Connie,” he said urgently, “when you see your out, you run and you don’t look back.” 

“Then you promise me something Javi,” she whispered fiercely, “don’t say a single word about Steve or Olivia or where we live.” She pushed past the stab of grief at their names, “please promise me Javi. Even if,” Connie’s voice caught, “if they hurt me. Don’t give them anything. I have to keep Steve safe.” 

Javier was quiet for a long moment. They swayed back and forth against each other, the van moving more slowly. Rough voices were getting louder, laughing and shouting in Spanish. 

“Don’t worry,” he said finally. “I’ll protect Steve. We both want to keep him safe.” Connie sank against him, boneless with relief. The van stopped.

“Shit,” Javier whispered. “Connie, you have to get the bag back on my head. Put the knife in your shoe.” 

“I’m sorry, Javi,” Connie whispered, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek before pulling the rough burlap back over his face. She scooted away from him, slipping her knife into her shoe just seconds before the blanket was ripped off. Connie shrieked, startled, as a hand grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the van.

“Perra ruidosa, ¡callate!” a rough voice growled. Connie jerked with the force of his slap, blood filling her mouth. She leaned heavily against the van, staring at her surroundings. They were standing in front of a dilapidated building in the middle of the jungle. Men with automatic rifles surround them, jeering and making crude hand motions when they saw her pulled from the van. 

Two men pulled Javier out, draping his limp body between them and dragging him towards the house. Connie had to give him kudos for his acting skills, at least, she was 90% certain he was acting. 

“Señora Murphy,” the man who’d slapped her spoke again, “ven conmigo.” The movement of his pistol towards the building made the meaning of his words clear. 

Connie stood, straightening her back, holding her head high. She would not show them any weakness. Her icy blue eyes swept over the leering sicarios. Pushing down her fear, she moved, stepping gingerly over the rocks. A gun pressed into the small of her back, stiffening her shoulders.  _ Do not cry,  _ she told herself fiercely.  _ Don’t cry. Don’t beg. You have to be strong. For Steve and Olivia. For Javi.  _

“¡Muévete puta!” Another man yelled, waving his gun in her face. Connie lifted her chin and looked him straight in the face, pulling on her anger to keep her cheeks free from tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she said evenly, matching his leer with her icy gaze, “I don’t speak Spanish, asshole.”

***

“Colonel Carrillo,” the man’s voice was annoyed, rough with sleep, but it was music to Steve Murphy’s ears. He tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes in relief. It had taken nearly an hour of painful conversation in broken Spanish, but he had finally convinced someone to put him through to Carrillo’s home phone. Javi probably had the number on fuckin speed dial.

“Damn, Carrillo, you’re a tough man to reach,” he drawled, relief suffusing his voice. 

“It’s midnight, Murphy, what do you want,” Carrillo was short, as usual, exacerbated by the late hour. 

“Connie went shopping at 2 pm today and never came home,” Steve said without preamble, heart lurching as he fought to keep his voice even. “I went to Peña but he’s not back either and he’s not answering his pager or his radio. No one has seen him since this morning.”

“You sure he’s not with some whore in his apartment?” Carrillo’s voice was condescending, dismissive. Steve snapped.

“I’m in his fuckin’ apartment, Carrillo, with a sobbing toddler and a missing wife and partner.” Steve barreled through the break in his voice, “if you’re not gonna fuckin take this seriously I’ll have to alert the embassy.” Carrillo hissed through his teeth. 

“Don’t alert the embassy Murphy, you’ll kill them both.” Carrillo growled. “I’ll contact my assets and see if they heard anything about a gringa or a federal agent. Maybe send some men over there. Since 2 pm you said?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Ten hours now.” 

“Mierda,” Carrillo grunted. Steve heard the soft whisper of sheets and a woman’s voice. “Can you meet me at CNP headquarters, Murphy.” 

“I can’t take Olivia to headquarters, Carrillo.” Steve’s stomach twisted. The last thing he wanted was to leave Olivia, but he had to find Connie. “I don’t have anyone I trust with her, anymore.” 

“Is your daughter all right?” Steve shifted Olivia in his lap, silently begging her to stay asleep.

“Connie,” Steve swallowed, “uh, left her with Señora Alvaro upstairs when she went out. She's fine other than worn out from crying for her mother,” he finished bitterly. 

More rapid-fire Spanish passed between Horacio and his wife, Steve only catching his name, Connie’s and Olivia’s. 

“I’m sending some men and a car to bring you here,” Carrillo spoke suddenly. “My wife says she can look after Olivia tomorrow. You’ll both be safer. If Escobar is moving against federal agents then you are in danger too.” 

“Right,” Steve hesitated, overwhelmed. “Gracias, Carrillo.” 

“Stay put, I’ll have men there in half an hour.” The line went dead. Steve hung up, resting his head on the receiver. He gripped the phone so hard he thought it might break, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. _ Connie, Javi, I swear I’ll find you. I’ll burn this whole fucking country down to get you back.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stechner is an obstructionist little shit, Carrillo is a scheming bastard, Javier tries to be strong for Connie, who needs it very badly, and Steve absolutely loses his fucking shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence, torture, threats, non-descriptive non-consensual sexual activity, non-con drug use, Steve is unhinged, Bill Stechner is his own warning, literally all of these people are their own warning, angst, despair, thoughts of self-harm, dead dove: do not eat.
> 
> A/N: this shit is dark AF yo. Read the warnings and skim the middle Connie perspective if you need to. You gotta go down before you head back up. Trust me.

Javier Peña had always been very good at playing possum. As a boy he’d hidden in the hayloft for hours, avoiding chores and his older cousins. As a teenager, it had been nothing to feign sleep until he could slip out without Chucho noticing. It wasn’t any harder to fool the sicarios. 

Pretending to be unconscious would protect Connie, Javier reasoned, absolving her of any suspicion that they had collaborated. The men half-carried, half-dragged him through the building, making a dizzying number of turns before one of them shouldered open a door.

Javier was dumped on the floor inside. He groaned involuntarily, curling his body inwards at the sudden pain in his ribs. His head was fuzzy, aching with the concussion Connie had predicted. 

“Despierto, Peña?”  **Awake, Peña?** A smug voice echoed through the open door. Javier held himself still, breathing shallowly through the bag covering his head. He heard a grunt and heavy boots moving away. They let him lie there as the minutes ticked by, men moving boxes and dragging heavy things around. They were speaking softly. Javier was focusing so hard on trying to hear what they were saying he completely missed the footsteps coming nearer. 

Pain exploded in his side and all the air left his body in a whining sob. Rough hands pulled him to his knees and ripped the bag off his head.

Javier squinted, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The sudden light was blinding after so much darkness. Three men surrounded him, their faces shadowed. The room swam around him, but Javier could make out the knives and blunt instruments on a table behind them. His blood ran cold

“No eres el agente de la DEA que queríamos”  **You’re not the DEA agent we wanted** . Javier swallowed hard, swaying on his knees.  _ They’d set the trap for Steve.  _

“¿Quieres saber por qué?”  **Do you want to know why?** The man speaking squatted down, gripping Javier’s chin in his hand and forcing his eyes up.  _ Verdugo. The Butcher.  _ Verdugo smiled, seeing recognition flare in his eyes. 

“La mayoría de los hombres harán lo que sea necesario para proteger a sus esposas.”  **Most men will do whatever it takes to protect their wives,** he said, a dark chuckle rolling from his chest.  _ Well, they definitely had Steve’s number. _

Verdugo’s hand moved down Javier’s neck and  _ squeezed _ , making him choke. Someone cut his bonds, quickly securing his hands in front of him with a pair of cuffs. They dragged him up, attaching the cuffs to a hook on the ceiling. Javier’s breath came in short bursts, fear cutting into his chest. Someone kicked his legs out from under him and he fell against the cuffs, groaning as they cut into his skin.

“Dame a Steve Murphy y te devolveré a tu embajada,”  **Give me Steve Murphy and I'll take you back to your embassy,** Verdugo hissed in Javier’s ear. Something hard struck him in the back and he screamed.  _ Kidney shot _ . 

“Agente Murphy habría cedido rápidamente”.  **Agent Murphy would have given in quickly.** Verdugo turned, signalling someone out of sight. A woman’s voice rose in the hallway, shouting in English. Javier’s heart sank. 

Two sicarios dragged a struggling Connie into the room. The last half an hour had not been kind to her. Her hair had been torn out of its ponytail and her jacket was gone. Her shirt and shoes were missing as well, leaving her in just her camisole and jeans. New bruises decorated her face and arms.

“Javi,” she gasped, eyes wide. They pushed her into a chair directly across from him, her hands still bound in front. 

**“** Veamos qué haces, Agente Peña”.  **Let’s see what you do, Peña.** The men holding Connie laughed as Verdugo chose a knife from the table and moved towards her. Her eyes met Javier’s, boring into him. 

“You promised me, Javi,” her voice shook with fear as she spoke, but the resolve in her gaze hadn’t weakened. Javier closed his eyes.  _ Fuck.  _

***

Steve Murphy jerked awake, heart racing at the banging on the door. There was a pause, and someone shouted in Spanish. Dread filled Steve’s gut, _ Search Bloc would’ve announced themselves in English. _

Gently, Steve laid Olivia on the couch and pulled a chair in front to keep her from rolling off in her sleep. The sweet way she curled into his body heat, still trapped in the couch cushions, melted his heart. Another loud knock on the door, more shouted Spanish. Steve grabbed his handgun from the side table and checked it reflexively, eyes never leaving his daughter.  _ Fuck it. _

He was at the door in another heartbeat, pressing himself against the wall to the side. 

“Who's there?” Steve called, holding his breath, half expecting a barrage of gunfire to cut through the door. For a long minute there was silence. Then what sounded like an argument in Spanish and more boots in the hall.  _ Fuck fuck fuck. _

“Murphy, it’s Trujillo,” a familiar voice called, “open up, I’m here with Search Bloc.” Steve let out his breath in a rush, fist unclenching. But when he swung the door open, the familiar cold feeling returned.

Trujillo had his gun drawn, held nonchalantly but angled to shoot. Steve recognized several of the other Search Bloc officers behind him. They formed a discrete line between his apartment and a group of CNP officers. All had their weapons drawn.

“The fuck is going on out here Trujillo,” Steve drawled, nerves enhancing his accent. His thumb flicked the safety on his Colt. 

“Get your daughter and come with me, now” Trujillo said shortly. Steve began to protest but Trujillo cut him off. “She will have what she needs where we are going,” he finished, eyeing Steve significantly. His meaning was clear.  _ Don’t mention Carrillo is taking you in. We need to hurry.  _ Steve huffed out a breath.  _ All right. He could work with that. _

Steve moved back into Javier’s apartment and picked up his sleeping daughter, locking the door behind him. Some of the men shrunk away from the murderous look on his face when he moved out to join Search Bloc, Olivia wrapped tightly in his arms. The hair on the back of Steve’s neck prickled at the tension between the two groups. He shifted Olivia to get a better grip on his gun.  _ Something was very wrong.  _

No one spoke until Steve and Olivia were safely ensconced in a Search Bloc Jeep. Two more pulled into the road after them.

“What the fuck,” Steve growled.

“They raised the price on your head,” Trujillo interrupted, “one million US dollars for live capture.” The weight on Steve’s chest tripled, leaving him breathless.

“What?” he gasped. 

“Those cops were about to break down your door.” Trujillo’s scowl was dark. “They may not have even been on Escobar’s payroll, word travels fast.” 

“Fuck,” Steve slammed his fist into the seat, hot rage and icy fear sliding down his spine. Trujillo nodded in agreement. 

“Carrillo‘s waiting for you. They found Peña’s jeep.”

***

The cold metal lip of the chair bit into Connie Murphy’s thighs as she screamed. The men holding her shoulders back laughed, and some part of her wondered numbly why they hadn’t tied her down. Verdugo dug the tip of the blade into her leg again, slicing through her skin and jeans easily. She sobbed, writhing, as blood soaked her jeans. 

_ Superficial cuts,  _ she thought dazedly,  _ no real chance of bleeding out.  _ The knife bit into her thigh and she jerked, moaning.  _ Meant to cause pain. Danger of infection. _

Javier was cursing them out in Spanish from across the room, voice filled with helpless rage. It helped, somehow, knowing he was there. That she wasn’t completely alone. 

“You tell us where to find your husband and this stops,” a new voice spoke up, the accented English catching Connie by surprise. 

“What?” she managed through a sob. “Why do you want him?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back sharply, forcing her to look up at him. His other hand held a razor sharp knife to her throat, scratching it across her collarbone as her breathing quickened.

“He has information we need,” he said simply, “things Agent Peña wasn’t told.” His lips twitched. “Hold still  _ Connie _ , we need you alive when he gets here.” The knife continued down her chest. 

Anger bubbled up in her gut, burning hot at her name on that  _ monster’s  _ lips. She was shaking, fear and pain and helpless rage coursing through her, thoughts spiraling.  _ How dare they threaten my Steve. He won’t get hurt. I won’t let them. I won’t. I won’t.  _ Her lips turned up in a snarl.

Connie leaned forward, pressing against the blade, heart racing. 

“Fuck you,” she hissed. “You won’t get my husband.” The man’s brow furrowed, shock running across his features. His eyes turned hard. 

“Puta gringa,” he spat. In one fluid motion he drew his gun and pistol whipped Connie across the face, knocking her off the chair. She hit the ground so hard she couldn’t  _ breathe _ . Tears stung her eyes.

“Tú puedes jodarla,” he snarled, turning to the small group of sicarios. “Let me know if she says anything.” 

Javi’s panicked gasp was all the warning she got. A heavy boot caught her in the stomach, folding her over. Someone grabbed her shirt and the fabric  _ ripped _ . 

“Wait,” Connie panted, panic freezing her mind. “Stop.” They didn’t stop. More hands groped at her, pulling down the waistband of her jeans and panties. A sharp knife scraped between her breasts, cutting off her bra. 

She tried to scream but her throat was tight with terror. Connie kicked weakly at the men surrounding her as they dragged her bound hands over her head, exposing her completely. 

“Bebe, cariño,” rough laughter echoed in the room as she struggled, a glass of bitter liquid forced down her throat.  _ Drugged,  _ Connie thought numbly.  _ Not that it’s necessary.  _

Verdugo settled himself between her thighs, laughing. He slapped her, “mirame, gringa,” he taunted. She could just make out Javier’s pained cries over her own broken sobs.

***

“Dammit Stechner, I don't have time for your shit,” Steve Murphy slammed a fist against the CIA station chief’s desk. “The CNP said they turned Javi’s Bronco over to your people, and I need to know where the fuck it is.” Steve’s other hand gripped the edge of Bill Stechner’s desk so hard his knuckles were turning white. 

His morning had not gone well. Carrillo had been so sure Peña’s vehicle would be the lead they needed, but he had run into official roadblocks and obstructions, eventually returning home empty handed. Steve had spent the night trying to settle Olivia at Carrillo’s house, but she had cried for Connie until exhaustion overtook her. He hadn’t slept since the day before and Stechner was fraying his last fucking nerve. It was taking everything he had not to wipe the smug look off of that son of a bitch’s face.

“Look, Agent Murphy,” Stechner sighed, “this is an ongoing CIA investigation and as such is classified..”

“Bullshit,” Steve snarled, jaw working. “My fucking partner is missing. What the hell was in his jeep.”

Stechner stared at him for a full minute, rocking back and forth in his chair. Sensing the tension, Carrillo moved from where he was leaning against the wall, adjusting his gun as he leaned over the desk next to Steve.

“Do you trust your wife, Agent Murphy?” Carrillo caught him before he could fly over the desk and smash Bill Stechner’s face in. A brief gleam of triumph flashed in the man’s eyes as he spoke again. 

“Your wife’s bike was found in Peña vehicle,” Stechner continued, “along with her purse and a note, ostensibly from Peña. Apparently they’re running to Cartagena together.”

Steve laughed, gobsmacked.  _ Of all the stupid fucking ideas… _

“Connie wouldn’t do that to me. Neither would Javi. Let me see the note, I know his handwriting.” Anger built in his gut.  _ Christ, they were in danger and he was dealing with this fucking shit from people who should be helping him.  _

“Surely you know how seductive your partner can be, Agent Murphy.” Steve cut him off.

“Give me the fuckin note, Stechner,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Stechner shrugged lazily.

“I don’t have it. They found the vehicle a few hours away towards the coast, it’s being brought back.” 

“Fuck you, Stechner,” Steve stalked out of the office, trembling with rage.  _ Who the fuck did he think he was, believing something like that. Connie and Javi…  _ He ran his hands through his hair.  _ Jesus.  _

His whole body burned with the need to  _ do something. Fuck.  _ Steve slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the pain in his knuckles. Carrillo intercepted his wrist before he could do it again.

“My men arrested some sicarios an hour ago trying to break into your apartment,” the older man said evenly, steering him through the corridors, his hand still firmly holding Steve’s arm. “They’re at the warehouse on the other side of Bogota.” 

Something dark and ugly stirred in Steve’s gut. He understood, implicitly, the offer behind Carrillo’s words. An opportunity to find a lead. To work out his rage. Javi had warned him about this, about Carrillo. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. But Javier wasn’t fucking here.

“We have to get them back,” Carrillo said, his voice softer than he had ever heard it. “Peña is my friend too.”  _ Whatever it takes,  _ Steve thought, lips twisting bitterly. 

Steve’s long strides carried him out of the Embassy and into the bright Columbian sunshine, Carrillo matching him step for step. 

“What the hell are we waiting for, then, Colonel.” 

  
  


***

Javier Peña hadn’t expected to wake up at all. When he heard that Steve alone had the information they wanted, he knew he was a dead man. They had no reason to keep Javier alive any longer, demonstrated by the renewed ferocity of the beating they had dished out. The careless swing of a pipe had struck his head and knocked him out. The only thing he’d felt as he slipped away was a sickening sense of relief,  _ it was over.  _ It had followed him into the darkness, chased by Connie’s screams.

_ Connie.  _ He felt sick, remembering. Javier wondered if she was dead yet, or if she just wished she was. It hurt more than he thought it would, knowing he hadn’t been able to help her. At least he’d kept his fucking promise. His lips twitched. They’d knocked him out before he’d broken.  _ Malditos novatos. _

He stretched his legs out as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Javier knew his chest and torso must be a mass of bruises. The broken ribs Connie had diagnosed were making themselves known with every movement. He was bleeding from somewhere on his head, the sticky blood flaking off his face as he wrinkled his forehead in pain.

He was alone in a tiny cell, bars crossing the door. Javier’s hands were numb, trapped above his head by steel cuffs. He turned, trying to press his aching forehead against the cold concrete of the wall.  _ At least they’d left him on a fucking mattress instead of the cold floor.  _ That had been unexpected.

Javier had expected to die from the moment they’d dragged him into this hellish jungle warehouse. He’d expected to go out like Kiki, tortured continuously for hours as the sicarios extracted secrets from his brain. This was obviously better than  _ that,  _ but it made Javier nervous.

He hadn’t expected a fucking waiting game. _What the hell was taking them so long._ Javier leaned his head back against the wall, thinking, not for the first time, that he’d rather have a bullet.

***

Horacio Carrillo leaned against the wall outside the safe house, watching the rain fall. It drummed against the roof of the porch, soothing his nerves. He took a drag from his cigarette, sending smoke up to circle the flickering lightbulb. Whimpering screams still drifted from the open door. The American had been brutal.

The Steve Murphy he had met years ago, the man who had followed Peña around like a lost puppy dog, had blanched the first time he’d seen Carrillo at work. The man’s desperate need for acceptance had crumbled in the face of the reality of Columbian police work. Peña’d had to drag him out before he could faint.

Carrillo blew out another lungful of smoke. Murphy had become an asset to him since then, a good partner, willing to follow Peña’s influence and turn a blind eye to his darker pursuits. It had never hurt to have a gringo agent throwing the weight of the Americans behind his actions.

But this was different. It was personal for both of them. Carrillo had certainly never expected to be playing second fiddle to Murphy in the interrogation room. He narrowed his eyes, considering. The man’s control had disappeared with Peña. Carrillo would have to move carefully from here on out.

Steve Murphy stalked out of the safe house, covered in blood spatter, hands a battered mess. His angry gaze swept over the gathered men, daring them to stare as he thumbed out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply before turning to face Carrillo. 

“I know what you’re fucking doing here Carrillo,” he growled, jabbing the cigarette in his direction. The rage in his blue eyes had dulled, a muted fire compared to the blazing inferno he had been an hour earlier. 

Carrillo took another slow drag on his cigarette, adjusting his stance. Murphy had always backed down in the face of his own aggressive arrogance, he had no doubt he would again. His eyebrows lifted, daring Murphy to continue.

The other man huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck you, Carrillo. You never change.” Murphy moved closer, clenching and unclenching his empty fist. 

“You’re still keepin me in the dark. You wanna tell me what those fuckers said the whole time I was goin at em? Because they sure as hell were singin.” Murphy paused, clearly giving Carrillo a chance to answer. He didn’t. 

Murphy was fast for such a big man. Before anyone could move, he had Carrillo’s collar fisted in his hand and his other arm against the man’s chest, slamming him into the wall. Carrillo kept himself from flinching by a thread. 

“I’m not some fuckin hired gun, you hear me  _ Colonel _ ?” He hissed. Search Bloc men moved in behind him. “Back the fuck off, Trujillo!” Murphy called over his shoulder. “If we’re conducting a fucking investigation I expect to be a part of the fucking investigation,” he continued. “I’m not gonna just stand there and fuck people up for you while you scream at them in fuckin Spanish. Now tell me what the fuck is going on.” 

Murphy was breathing hard. He stood directly under the single lightbulb, his hair shining like gold, but his face deeply shadowed. Carrillo couldn’t see him clearly, couldn’t read the man. And for a brief moment, Horacio Carrillo wondered if he had underestimated Steve Murphy.

“So,” Murphy drawled slowly, “ are we going to have a civil conversation?” He took a step closer, using every inch of the head of height he had over Carrillo to loom, boxing him in. His fingers twitched, ash from his cigarette smoldering onto Carrillo’s lapel. “Or is Trujillo going to have to shoot me?” 

“You know very well those men spoke no English.” Carrillo began.

“Oh bullshit Carrillo don’t give me that crap,” Murphy growled. “You speak fuckin English. I gave you plenty of suggestions and you didn’t answer me once.” His fingers tightened on Carrillo’s collar. “You never once told me what they were sayin! I might as well not have even been there. I’m not here to do your dirty work.” 

Carrillo narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t complain about the opportunity, Agent Murphy. Your DEA wouldn’t be happy with your involvement” Murphy’s face darkened and he shoved Carrillo a little harder.

“You tell me right fuckin now what they said about my wife and Peña. I’m not stupid, I know they were talking about a gringa,” Murphy gritted the words out through his teeth. “I’m not a patient man and I’m not going to let you fuckin threaten me Carrillo.” 

“They said they were taken to a sicario called Verdugo,” Trujillo spoke up. “To a safe house somewhere in the jungle.” His gun was aimed at Murphy’s head, but his eyes, trained on Carrillo, were full of disappointment.

Murphy let go of Carrillo, lifting his hands and stepping back a quick pace. “There, you see, that wasn’t so hard. Who the fuck is Verdugo?”

“The Butcher,” Carrillo said, feeling a rush of relief at finally being able to lift his cigarette to his lips again. “He’s in charge of Escobar’s jungle facilities for holding and torturing prisoners, and managing his whores.” 

“Whores?” Murphy asked. Carrillo brushed off the ash on his lapel, meeting the other man’s eyes. 

“They keep girls they’ve kidnapped to entertain sicarios,” he said bluntly. “We think that’s where they’ve taken some of the kidnapped police wives and daughters. No one taken there survives long, at least not untouched. Verdugo is good at what he does.” Murphy’s face had gone grey as Carrillo spoke.

“Do we know where it is?” He asked quickly. “Did they tell you?” Carrillo shook his head.

“No, but they squealed on a few other guys who might. I’ve sent some men to find them.” Murphy nodded, taking his gun from his holster and spinning it in his large hands.

“Did we get everything we needed from them?” He asked.

“I don’t think they have anything left to tell us,” Trujillo answered, holstering his own gun. Murphy nodded. The light finally fell across his face as he turned to look through the open door. 

Murphy’s eyes were chips of clear blue ice, the fury that had sustained him through the interrogation replaced by something far colder and harder. He met Carrillo’s eyes, flicked off his safety and walked back into the building. 

Loud voices rose, then sharp gunshots and long drawn-out screams. Trujillo moved closer to the Colonel, jerking his head in Murphy’s direction.

“Es peligroso. El sabe que lo estás manipulando.”  **it's dangerous. He knows you are manipulating him.** Carrillo shrugged.  _ It couldn’t be helped. _

“Vigarlo, Trujillo.”  **keep an eye on it, Trujillo.**

A moment passed, then two more gunshots echoed through the building. Murphy stepped back outside, sliding his gun into his shoulder holster. He dug out a new cigarette, lighting up and drawing deeply.

“So,” Steve Murphy turned to Search Bloc, his face a mask. “What’s next, boys?”

  
  


****

Consciousness came and went in flashes. Drugged dizziness. Overwhelming, splitting pain. Violent bursts of light. Horrifying moments of pleasure. Suffocating pressure. Long minutes of lucidity where she knew exactly what was happening to her, and contrasting tangles of incoherent fear when she had no idea where or who she was. 

She came around slowly the last time, shaky as the effects of being drugged wore off. The cold concrete under her body grounded her. She was aware of being picked up, her body limp despite her efforts. Water was poured over her head and she drank it in greedily. 

She couldn’t stand when they pulled her up, so she was lifted again and carried down another hallway. Her eyes closed. A door clanged open and she was tossed inside, hitting the rough concrete hard. Her eyes closed again. She didn’t have the strength to cry.

“Connie?” A soft deep voice echoed in the small room. She lifted her head.

“Connie!” The voice was stronger, more sure. She knew that voice.

“Javi?” Connie Murphy whispered. She pushed herself up on her elbows. It was him. Javier Peña lay slumped against the wall on a dirty mattress, his hands chained above his head. She could see the pain and dismay wash across his face as he looked at her. 

“C’mere hermosa,” Javi whispered, his voice soft. His gentleness broke the dam inside her and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Can’t,” she sobbed. “Hurts… Javi... it hurts…”

He sighed deeply, “you can do this, Connie.” She flinched. Javier continued, his voice even and gentle, crooning encouragement like she was a wounded animal he was trying to convince to come in out of the darkness. 

Somehow, she did it. Connie made herself move across the floor, shivering violently from shock and cold. She pulled herself up next to Javi feeling like she’d run for miles, curling instinctively into his warmth.

“Mierda, you’re freezing. Christ they didn’t even give you a fucking blanket.” Javier’s voice was angry, strained under the weight of quieting his rage. “Fuck. I’m so sorry hermosa.” 

“Javi,” she sniffed brokenly. “I… I’m glad you're here.” Her breath hiccuped. “I know it sounds awful but I don’t want to be alone,” Connie whispered as she leaned into him. 

“Me either,” Javi said softly, resting his head on hers, wishing he could wrap her in his arms. Her tears dripped wetly on his chest. 

"Shhh hermosa," he whispered,” va a estar bien, cálmate, tranquilo.” He shifted, rocking her against him. “Estás bien, Connie, te tengo a ti. Relájate, duerme, te abrazaría." She melted into him.

Exhaustion dragged them both into darkness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Connie Murphy really did ride her bike around Bogota, no kidding.


End file.
